Chapter 4: Gerda

"Ach!" mutters the Feldwebel, "look boy, see that blueing around the crank journal?"

The new 'apprentice' mechanic nods.

"It has run out of oil at some time, see? The metal has become brittle and will fracture. We'll need to strip down the spare engine and use the best parts to rebuild a good one."

The two men work on into the night on their improvised workbench in the old shed. They are surrounded by pieces of motor and tools in an effort to get the cranky Gnome aero-engine running. Nearby, several soldiers are busy 'doping' the wings and fuselage of the old aeroplane. Our resident 'artist' has turned up to paint iron crosses on the wings. It has become a community project.

Leutnant Spangenburg has assembled the makings of a ground crew and support staff for our little air force. The only person lacking is someone to fly it.

News travels fast in the little East-African community of Rungwa. In no time, everyone is aware of Spangenburg's efforts to get the absentee aristocrat's old Etrich Taube in the air. Some romantics have even offered themselves as pilots. However none have actually lifted a flying machine into the air. None, except one woman, Frau Gerda Carpentier, the schoolteacher.

The pre-war sport of aeroplane flying was mostly reserved for the sons, and sometimes daughters, of the fairly well-to-do. Although simple by today's standards, the aeroplanes were all hand built over many hours and thus quite expensive. Only those with a surfeit of money and time on their hands could afford to indulge. And of course, they were, and still are, dangerous, unreliable and temperamental. Not a 'sensible' pastime for any but the most adventurous.

Gerda Carpentier is the youngest daughter of the von Volk's, the rich industrialists who made a fortune in mining and steel. From Saarbruecken, she had the idle upbringing typical of someone born with a silver spoon. That is, until she met George Carpentier, a man with a mission to raise the weak and ignorant into the shining light of civilisation. They married in early 1914 and travelled out to darkest Africa shortly before the declaration of war.

Frau Carpentier learnt to fly on her father's rolling country estate in Thuringen. The aeroplane was her brother Jurgen's, a French Antoinette not unlike the Etrich Taube. Stunning in appearance, and vivacious in personality, Gerda had no problem in persuading her brother to teach her.

Having heard Spangenburg was looking for pilots, she immediately volunteered, convincing George, her husband, it was her Imperial duty. The Leutnant turned her down flat, however. It was unthinkable, he said, for a woman to fly an aeroplane in such circumstances. As the days passed, though, it was becoming increasingly obvious there was simply no one else.

So, reluctantly Leutnant Spangenburg invited Gerda back to our little air-station. He thought that, at least, she might be able to teach one of the 'romantics' to get into the air and land without wrecking the flying machine.

Meanwhile, I receive a message from von Lettow. The army is heading for the Mozambique border, having immobilised the British and South African forces opposing him in Rhodesia. The General suggests I take our small force and shadow any allied relief expedition. If possible, we are to strike at their supply lines. To enable this to happen, we must not allow ourselves to be discovered and be engaged by the full strength of the enemy.

The enemy will have to march via Uwimbi to move south from the railway. Clearly, if we are to be able to use the SS Goethe, we'll have to move it from there. Therefore I assemble our volunteer crew of civilian steamboat men and Africans and send them off with an escort of Spangenburg's cavalry. Their orders are to move the giant vessel upriver away from the enemy and closer to Rungwa. At their best speed, it should take them the better part of a day to ride the distance.

Guy Martin watches the goings-on with interest from his suite of rooms at the Rungwa Hotel. Leaving his room, he goes down the hall to the British General's rooms and knocks.

"What's up, Martin, what's the fuss?"

Guy walks to the window and stands beside the General.

"They're going to Uwimbi, General. To get a steamboat, I hear," he tells him.

"What the deuce for?" the General asks.

"I believe the Captain wishes to sail to the coast."

"Oh does he now!" the General replies, "is the fellow making a run for it?"

"I think so. And to cover his General, so I've heard. Von Lettow is bound for Mozambique once again."

"Can you get a message out?" the Britisher asks.

"Maybe," Guy considers. "It is not as easy as before, General. Spangenburg's troopers are all over the place. I hear they now have an aeroplane too... I'm afraid it could be very expensive."

"You will be more than adequately compensated, Martin. When you have arranged matters come and see me. Oh, Martin?" he calls to the retreating Frenchman, "don't let the grass grow too long, what?"

"Of course, General. Things should be ready in a couple of days."

When the ivory trader goes, Brigadier Maitland-Evans sits at the writing desk and composes a letter on the hotel stationery. To deal with such people, he thinks, is distasteful. He really doesn't trust that snake of a Frenchman and as for that weasel Fleischer... Traitors and scoundrels the pair of them. Colonies everywhere are full of such people and it gives him no pleasure to have to associate with them.

I see off the Uwimbi party with trepidation. I don't like losing the escorting soldiers and so many valuable horses. The troopers are under orders to complete their task quickly and return with all the spare mounts. The steamboat crew will remain with the vessel with a small number of armed guards to await our arrival. It will be an anxious three or four days before the escort returns.

Meanwhile I receive a message from Frau Fleischer to visit her. She attends me in her drawing room. She's moody and depressed and speaks slowly and deliberately.

"Wolfgang, I think my husband and Guy are up to something," she tells me. "We must go now, without delay."

"I can't. Not without news of the enemy. Otherwise we could walk right into them."

She sighs and shakes her head in frustration.

"I am not a party to my husband's affairs," she says. "This is the first time he hasn't told me what he's doing. Helmut and Guy... they stop talking when I enter the room - they have these silly looks on their faces - I know they're up to something and they don't want me to find out."

I ask her what she does know. She answers that it is not much but she thinks it has something to do with the British prisoner.

"Perhaps my husband is taking out a little insurance for after the war," she adds.

"You think they're selling us to the British?" I ask in alarm.

"I don't know," she admits, " but really... what have they got to lose?"

"Still, treason... I mean..."

"You can't believe it, Wolfgang, because you are an honourable man. Men like Helmut Fleischer and Guy Martin, they have no honour, only their greed."

When I leave Gertrude's house, I am stunned and go to see Spangenburg at our aerodrome. When I pass on the news, he advises me to lock the two of them up. I can't, in all conscience, take such measures against civilians, so I decide to enlist the aid of the Police chief. Inspektor Palmier assures me he will keep an eye on the pair. Nevertheless I assign a guard to the General with instructions not to let any unauthorised people near him.

From the railway town of Kilamintinde, on the main line from Daressalam to Tabora, a giant overstuffed serpent is slowly uncurling. Provisionally titled 'The East-African Expeditionary Force, ' this army numbers nearly 55,000 and is buttressed by the 10 excellent infantry battalions of the 'King's African Rifles.' Accompanying the infantry are elements of the 2nd Indian Division, including a regiment of Bengal Lancers and the 18-pounder batteries of the Punjabi light horse Artillery.

This giant rolling mass of men and horses begins to snake its way inexorably towards Uwimbi. A little way out of town, however, the Bengal Lancers split from the main host and, together with a battery of guns, head in the general direction of Rungwa.

As yet oblivious to our peril, that evening after dinner, I take Trudi Fleischer for a ride out to see our aeroplane. For the last week the pressure of other matters has prevented me from spending time with my prospective fiancée.

The machine is parked out in front of the shed as we arrive. Gerda Carpentier and Leutnant Spangenburg are deep in conversation. She appears to be describing some theory in the science of aviation for she spreads her arms like wings and swoops around. I sense young Spangenburg is a little taken with her for he scarcely notices our arrival.

The aeroplane looks much more the business, although still very fragile looking. It now sports national insignia on the wings and the East African crest on the fuselage. Below the pilot's cockpit is painted a teddy bear with a halo, apparently some symbol from Gerda's childhood.

The machine can't carry a gun like a military craft. Irrespective of it's lack of an interrupter gear allowing a machine gun to fire through the airscrew arc, the 50 horsepower motor is simply not powerful enough to carry a gun and ammunition as well as a pilot. The brave woman, however, says she will carry her husband's carbine. How she is going to fire that weapon while clutching the control stick is problematic.

"I will hold the stick so, between my knees then fire the rifle like this, " she says, demonstrating.

Admittedly there is no engine throttle to concern herself with, merely an off/on switch, but still it looks like it would require the utmost in dexterity.

Spangenburg looks a little ruffled by our intrusion, therefore I make an excuse and take Trudi down to the little lake.

"Spangenburg looks like he has adultery on his mind," Trudi says as we walk hand in hand by the water.

"And what would you know if it?" I ask, suddenly wishing I hadn't.

"I know lots of things," she explains, "I know about you and Mama, for instance."

"Yes, I guess you would know," I say, chastened.

"She says you were very good to her, very good indeed."

"I... I don't think we need to discuss..."

"Don't be embarrassed, my mother, she's very lonely out here. She likes you... I'm just glad you could cheer her up."

"You are?"

"Yes. It's not as if there's much else to do in Rungwa" She laughs. "Everybody's doing it. I'm sure Leutnant Spangenburg has Frau Carpentier's skirts up as we speak."

Instinctively I look back towards the aerodrome, even though it's a good 5 kilometres away.

"You think he..."

"Of course he would, you dummy." She giggles. "I think Gerda's beautiful. Far too good for that stuffy old George Carpentier. And the Leutnant's quite an eyeful too, or haven't you noticed?"

I shrug my shoulders.

"If I was free, I wouldn't say no to a roll in the loft with him," Trudi tells me, grinning impishly.

She goes quiet for a short time, looking out across the lake at the setting sun. Turning slowly around, she looks into my eyes and utters in a quiet voice,

"I'm not free, am I?"

"I guess not," I tell her.

"So, are you going to ask me, officially?"

Taking up my courage, I put my hands to her sweet face and gaze into her eyes. There I perform my duty to the best of my ability. I ask my lovely Trudi to marry me. Smiling, she insists I kneel before her and repeat the invitation. Having finally accomplished the task, I take her head in my hands once again and kiss her.

Trudi presses herself to me as her moist lips and tongue work against mine. I feel those little twin peaks of hers mash into my chest. My body tingles with desire as Trudi squirms and clutches me around my back. She hums, as if in contentment.

"Show me," she whispers in my ear.

I smile at the mention of our old game. Trudi takes things in hand and begins to undo my buttons. She breathes heavily as I start to do the same to the front of her long dress. My lover gasps as I draw a stiff little nipple into my mouth at last. Presently she drops her outer clothing to stand semi-naked before my appreciative gaze.

'Such a slim and beautiful body she has, ' I think to myself. We lie down in the grass together; her silk-covered thighs immediately trap my leg as she pulls expertly on my erect member. I lavish praise with lips and mouth on her bobbing breasts, eliciting more moaning. Sliding down my body, I feel her honey tongue on my bare thighs and sense it travel slowly up towards my hard cock.

The night air tickles my skin. It's a strange riot of sensation as the tip of her tongue lightly probes the underside of my member.

"Mama said you like this," she murmurs to me.

I look down in surprise as she engulfs me with her mouth. Fascinated, I watch the ringlets of her blond hair swirl around her bobbing head. Her breasts graze my bare skin. Presently she looks up at me nervously and whispers my name.

"Mama said there was something else you might like," she says.

As I stare back at her, curious, she lies back down on the ground and draws down her bloomers. Holding my breath, I see for the first time the little thatch concealing her sex. She slowly opens her legs while watching me for my reaction. Gingerly I place my hand over it.

"Do you... like it?" she whispers.

"Beautiful!"

"Mama said... you must make it... slippery, for..."

"For?" I ask quietly.

"To put your... thing in me."

Overjoyed and boiling with desire, I bend down and kiss her between her legs. Her body jerks and she emits a little gasp. I ask her if she's all right and she motions for me to continue. I willingly set about the task of preparing my bride-to-be for physical union. With me lapping gently at her sex, she writhes and sighs in appreciation. So expert with the tongue have I become that presently I have her grinding and moaning in ecstasy, while emitting a fair amount of lubrication for the next act.

"Are you ready, my love?" I ask her.

She nods, though apprehension is written on her face. Shuffling forward, I suck her little titties before placing myself at her entrance. She grits her teeth like a brave trooper. I ease slowly into her. Curiously there's no obstruction. Not uncommon, so I'm told, for those used to riding horses. Out in Africa, I have learned not to question this phenomenon too much.

Virgin or not, Trudi clamps me very snugly indeed. Taking my time, I work my length slowly inside her until at last she has fitted me completely. She manages a little smile of triumph at our success, but I suspect she's not altogether comfortable as yet. I work myself slowly and gently around while placing my thumb on her button. Suddenly her eyes flick open wide, she lets go a big rush of air, and howls through her clenched teeth. Pushing herself hard against me she stiffens, then relaxes. Having undergone much practice of late, I am able to hold back my own crisis.

Some five kilometres away, meanwhile, Gerda Carpentier is undergoing her own crisis. She knows she should have returned home hours ago; her husband would be growing concerned. At the same time, Leutnant Spangenburg is a very interesting man indeed. His interest in her is obvious; he smiles a lot at her, watches her, then pretends he's not.

Gerda, on the other hand, can't resist a little teasing. She smiles back, flutters her long eyelashes, pushes out her bottom a little when he's behind her and her chest when he is in front. She's wearing some borrowed service trousers and a military tunic. Clearly feminine attire would be a handicap in an aeroplane. Baggy though the clothes are, Gerda is adept at demonstrating to the Leutnant that there is a woman's body inside.

'What am I doing?' she asks herself, 'I'm a married woman.' However the thrill she feels through her body during this little game is overriding her sense of morality. She looks at the young officer once more. Notes his brimmed hat with one side pinned to the crown, his buttoned-up military jacket and cavalry trousers tucked into high boots. Such a man of action! A brave warrior of the Kaiser fighting an increasingly hopeless battle. A man of honour and purpose. In fact, a man not unlike her own husband. Or at least George was, before setting foot in Africa. She sighs.

For her own George has lost his honour and purpose amid the debauchery of the white colonists of East Africa. He'd been corrupted; subverted by the boredom, the isolation and the licenciousness. Entrusted with the care and education of young African teenagers, he'd developed favourites. And these 'favourites' were vulnerable young girls. From guardian to abuser, she knew he'd crossed the line, and more than once. She didn't think she could ever forgive him.

'Sweet revenge, or a simple tit for tat?' She'd kept her pain to herself. Held true to her marriage vows all this time. Now this handsome soldier wanted her and she didn't know what to do.

"Oh Wolfie," my Trudi gasps, "... so nice... uh... Mama was right."

I continue slowly stroking into my sweetheart. Supporting myself with my hands I'm able to watch her; watch her body jolt when I thrust in. Her sweet mouth opens to emit another lung-full of air. Her little breasts wobble on her chest. Her hands grip tightly to my arms. Her bent knees flap on either side of my body. Her pale white skin is now flushed and blotchy with arousal.